


Going to Pieces

by undertailsoulsex



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Cuddles, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pain, Sickfic, Surgery, Surgery while awake, skelebros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 07:10:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9645755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undertailsoulsex/pseuds/undertailsoulsex
Summary: Sans doesn't take care of himself.  Things fall apart.Mind the warnings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mistress_of_Undertail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistress_of_Undertail/gifts).



> This is a fic for [Queen](https://queenofsintale.tumblr.com). It's not exactly sin like usual, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.
> 
> I had this fic on my mind for a few months and I really wanted to write it. I'm not so sure about how it turned out, but eh, here you go.

Sans walks into the apartment, his body a rattling mess and his eye sockets sagging with exhaustion. Normally he would come home, have a little dinner, maybe watch an hour of television. If he’s lucky, he might even see his bro for five minutes before they both hit the hay.

But tonight Sans feels off. It’s like there’s something crawling in his bones. It’s weighing him down, making him want to sleep more than anything else.

Plus his soul kinda hurts. Not in this “oh you hit me straight on with your magic and I’m gonna fall apart” way. No, it’s a strange, lingering pain somewhere in the background. Sans hasn’t been able to shake it off for weeks.

He _wants_ to stay awake. It’s not like he’s usually one to reject a nap. But he hasn’t eaten all day. He’s been too busy at work, and even when he does have a break, his appetite is missing. His quick bite before bed has been the only meal he’s had for weeks.

And, of course, he wants to talk to Paps. It’s been at least nine days since he’s last had a chance to say anything other than “good night” to him, and he feels like crap over it. Both of them have been working too many hours and their schedules don’t exactly line up. Sans’s soul pangs at the thought of it, and he trips on his own slippers as discomfort rips through him. As his knees slam into the ground, tears spring to his eyes.

Yeah, screw dinner. If he can’t even manage to walk properly, then he needs sleep. It’s early, but he’s got the morning shift at Grillby’s anyway.

Without bothering to even take off his clothes, he collapses face first on his naked mattress. He’s so tired, he falls asleep almost immediately, dead to the world.

Sleep isn’t kind to him. He wakes up to his alarm, feeling like he never went to bed in the first place. His bones are so heavy and it takes him way too long to drag himself to the kitchen. When he gets there, he’s shocked to find Papyrus standing in the center of the room with his hands on his hips, appearing particularly irritated. More than irritated; Paps looks _pissed_.

“what up, bro?” His voice comes out hoarse, and even though he tries to clear it, the raspiness sticks to his throat.

“I CANNOT BELIEVE WHAT A DISAPPOINTMENT YOU ARE.”

A chill steals through Sans’s bones as he stares into his brother’s sockets. He can’t recall Papyrus ever sounding so _hostile_ before.

“what? paps?”

“YOU HEARD ME. A DISAPPOINTMENT.” He rushes forward and jabs at Sans’s chest, and Sans feels like his sternum is bruising from the force of his brother’s finger. “HOW COULD YOU GIVE UP ON EVERYTHING?”

Sans gawks at his brother, embarrassment filling his cheekbones. “what are you talking about? where is this coming from?”

“IT HIT ME LAST NIGHT, AS I WAS FALLING ASLEEP. LOOK AT HOW FAR YOU’VE FALLEN,” he says, gesturing at Sans. When Sans looks down, he’s wearing his uniform for his fast food gig. “YOU USED TO BE SO EXCITED ABOUT YOUR CAREER. ASTROPHYSICS! QUANTUM MECHANICS! NOW YOU’VE SETTLED FOR THE RESTAURANT INDUSTRY. IT’S PATHETIC.”

Sans doesn’t know what to say. He had been thinking it for so long about himself – many years before they had come to the Surface, in fact. But when had his brother started thinking it?

“AND ON TOP OF IT ALL, YOU CAN’T EVEN MAKE THE TIME TO SIT DOWN AND TALK TO ME ABOUT YOUR CAREER PLANS. OR TALK TO ME AT ALL! WITH SUCH MENIAL JOBS, I WOULD THINK YOU COULD DO THAT. BUT APPARENTLY I EXPECTED TOO MUCH OF YOU.”

Sans tries to think of a retort. Anything to throw back at Papyrus. But it’s all true. Sans _is_ pathetic. So pathetic that he’s cowering before his brother, his bones clattering from shame and exhaustion and everything else. How could he abandon his bro like this? Why was he even bothering with these crappy jobs if he can’t speak with Paps?

His brother shakes his head at him, an ugly sneer on his face. “APPARENTLY IT’S TOO DIFFICULT TO EVEN TALK TO ME ANYMORE.” He backs up from Sans, folding his arms against his chest and flicking his gaze to the side. “I GUESS YOU THINK YOU ARE TOO GOOD FOR ME.”

Sans finally finds his voice. “that’s not true!” He grabs onto Papyrus’s shirt, desperate for him to look back down at him. But his brother refuses to make eye contact, even as Sans is scrabbling at his battle chest. “paps, i would never think that!”

Without looking, Papyrus grabs Sans’s wrists, forcing him to open his hands. “WHY DON’T YOU JUST LEAVE? IT WOULD BE BETTER FOR BOTH OF US.”

Sans realizes how badly he’s messed this up now. “please, papyrus! don’t be like that!”

He attempts to press back into Papyrus’s chest, but his brother’s grip is too tight. Every time he tries to move, his bones twist, and it feels as if they might break any second. Panic seizes him, and he bends and pulls, pleading for Papyrus to let him go between broken sobs.

His brother releases him and his tailbone hits the floor with a resounding smack. It hurts, but already he’s clambering forward, wrapping his hands around Papyrus’s ankles. He begs his brother to listen to him, to stop this, to look at him, to do anything!

Suddenly the room goes black. It’s not like someone turned off the lights. It’s more like the kitchen is gone entirely. His brother is still standing in front of him with that same look of disdain, but the rest of the kitchen is now an empty, dark void.

Except it’s not empty. Sans can see it _moving_. It’s rippling and swelling like a massive tidal wave. As Sans peers at Papyrus, he can pick out these spots where the darkness is behaving strangely. Tiny black tendrils are poking out, swirling against his brother’s bones. Yet Papyrus appears unperturbed by them.

“WHY DON’T YOU JUST LEAVE, BROTHER?” he repeats, his voice filled with venom.

All of a sudden, an intense heat fills the space between Sans’s radii and ulnae, and when he gazes downwards he sees the darkness weaving there. His breath comes in heaving gasps as he realizes it’s not just his arms that are burning up, but his entire body. It’s suffused throughout his ribcage, his skull, his legs, _everywhere_. His bones are unbearably itchy and achy. He lets go of Papyrus, wildly shaking his arms. But it’s as if the shadows are embedded there.

“WHY DON’T YOU JUST LEAVE?”

The words echo in his skull. He wants so desperately to reach out for Papyrus, but he can’t. It’s taking all his attention to ward off the threat of the shadows engulfing him. He’s flailing his whole body now, trying to cast them off. But it’s no use. They’re all over him, slowly dragging him down into the thickest part of the darkness, burning him to his core. He screams for his brother to help, but Papyrus still won’t look at him, even as he slowly submerges below the pool of shadow.

When his skull slips into the void, he chokes on the darkness as it pours into his mouth. The shadows push past the magical barrier in his throat and flood his soul. He can feel the organ twitching and burning and tearing him up from the inside. He tries to scream, but that just causes more of the darkness to gush into him.

The last thing he sees before the void drowns his sockets is his brother glaring at him from above.

Desperate, he flings his eyes open. But the scene is gone. He’s in his room, wheezing and thrashing wildly, trying to cast off the phantom shadows. Papyrus’s favorite blanket is wrapped around his sweaty body, making it impossible to move properly.

It takes him a few seconds to realize the entire thing had been a dream. Papyrus isn’t angry with him and there are no shadows coming to kill him. When the thought sinks in, he relaxes, allowing the tension to drain from his shoulders. He sucks in a few deep breaths to calm his rattling bones.

Yet as he sinks into the mattress, he realizes that a profound ache has settled into his body. And not just that; he’s itchy too. He rubs at his legs through the blanket, but it only seems to exacerbate his need to scratch. It’s driving him wild, and he can’t stop moving in his attempt to satisfy that itch. He tears off the blanket, hoping direct contact will help, but as he reveals his body, he pauses.

Small, oddly-shaped splotches of bright yellow and blood red trail from his feet to his knees. He tentatively touches the raised surface, and inhales sharply from the raw stinging pain. Yet even as he groans from it, he can’t help but dig his fingers into the rash to try to alleviate the itch. It hurts and yet it feels so damn good.

After a bit it’s not just his legs begging for relief, but the rest of his body as well. He tugs the elastic band of his pants away from his hipbones and lifts his shirt to confirm that the discoloration extends there too. As far as he can tell, it goes all the way to his clavicles and down his arms. From the way his forehead itches, it probably coats his skull as well, though he can’t tell without a mirror.

He’s never seen anything like it before. Not on a skeleton, anyway. He had always figured that rashes were for fleshy monsters. Sure, he and Paps could get burned and sick and everything else, but for some reason, it had never occurred to him that he could get a rash of all things. He doesn’t have a whole lot of other skeletons to ask about this sort of stuff, and there isn’t a bunch of literature on their biology in general. So every time some illness presents some weird symptom like this, it comes as a shock.

He throws himself back into bed and sighs. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s sick. Even if he discounts the itchy rash, there’s no mistaking the dull pain permeating his bones. Not to mention he’s friggin’ exhausted. He checks his phone and sees that it’s only 6AM. His shift is early, but not this early.

It’s tempting to go back to sleep for a bit. But he’s got no intention of staying home, even if he is sick. Grillby would probably write it off as no big deal, but Sans and Papyrus need the money too much. Their two-bedroom apartment, located smack dab in the center of the city, costs an arm and a leg. Even with Papyrus’s high-paying salary, it’s not enough. Sans has no time to rest it off if they want to have electricity this month.

Besides, the nightmare is stuck in his head. The images had been so vivid and everything had felt so real. The mere suggestion of confronting his brother’s horribly accurate accusations sends a shiver up his spine.

He climbs out of bed and trudges to the bathroom, his bones quivering the whole way. When he gets into the shower and turns on the water, a sigh of relief falls from his teeth. The warmth draws out the itchiness in a way that scratching couldn’t, and as he slathers soap onto the rash, it soothes his bones. Soon the ugly splotches fade away, and when Sans gets out after his lengthy rinse, he’s clean, spotless, and comfortably heated.

It’s still early, and although he’s sagging with fatigue, he’s doesn’t want to go back to sleep. He should probably eat some breakfast, but for some reason his soul twitches with queasiness at the thought. Maybe if he leaves for the restaurant now, he’ll be hungry in half an hour, and then Grillby can whip him up a meal before they open. It’s not exactly likely his appetite will be back by then, but for some reason staying in the apartment makes Sans nauseous and shaky. Like his dream is going to become a reality, and the shadows are going to pop out of the walls and drag him under.

“BROTHER?”

Sans pauses, his hand hovering over the knob of the front door. He twists his head towards the kitchen and spies his bro sitting at the table. A steaming bowl of oatmeal sits in front of him.

“I THOUGHT I HEARD YOU IN THE SHOWER, BUT I THOUGHT MY MIND WAS PLAYING TRICKS ON ME! WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP SO EARLY?”

Sans swallows. “i really needed a rinse.”

There’s no need to tell Papyrus that he isn’t feeling too hot. He knows if he does, his bro would insist he stay home. And hell, if push came to shove, Paps would skip work himself if it meant getting Sans to bed. Nah, there’s no way Sans will say a thing.

“WELL IF _YOU_ THOUGHT YOU NEEDED TO BATHE, THEN YOU REALLY MUST HAVE STUNK.” Papyrus tilts his head. “BUT WHY ARE YOU LEAVING? YOU HAVEN’T HAD BREAKFAST!”

Sans shrugs. “felt like gettin’ to work early.”

Papyrus squints. “NONSENSE! EVERYONE KNOWS BREAKFAST IS THE MOST IMPORTANT MEAL OF THE DAY.”

“eh...”

“AND, WELL,” he says as he twiddles his fingers together, “IT WOULD BE NICE IF YOU SAT DOWN WITH ME. WE HAVEN’T HAD BREAKFAST TOGETHER IN A WHILE AND IT WOULD BE NICE TO TALK.”

Papyrus is wearing an uneasy expression, and Sans can’t help but be reminded of the nightmare. He clasps a hand to his chest as a sliver of pain hits his soul.

“SANS?”

Sans shakes his head. “yeah, bro, sorry. i’ll sit with ya.” He walks over to the table with a forced grin. “sorry i haven’t been around much. it’s been one hell of week.”

As soon as Sans joins him, Papyrus claps a hand to Sans’s back. “YOU HAVE BEEN TRYING YOUR BEST, BROTHER. AS HAVE I! IT HAS BEEN A RATHER BUSY MONTH FOR BOTH OF US.” He sighs. “BUT ENOUGH OF THAT! LET ME WHIP YOU UP A BOWL OF OATMEAL!”

“actually, bro, can i just get a couple bites of yours? i’m really not up for eating much.”

Papyrus gawks at him for a second before crying out, “WAIT, ARE YOU SICK?”

Sans’s smile twitches. “what? i’m just sayin’ that i’m not in the mood to eat.”

“BUT YOU ARE ALWAYS IN THE MOOD TO EAT!”

“heh. yeah, but that’s usually cheeseburgers and human food.”

“UGH!”

“yeah, see. i’m not used to this–” He takes Papyrus’s spoon and splatters a glop of oatmeal into the bowl. The sight sends a ripple of nausea through him. “– delicious meal you have here.”

Papyrus sighs again. “FINE. BUT PLEASE TRY TO EAT AT LEAST A LITTLE! ALL THAT GREASE IS TERRIBLE FOR YOU! AND DON’T YOU WORK A LONG SHIFT TODAY?”

“heh.” He drags a hand from his forehead to his chin. “yeah.”

Tonight is bound to be horrible. So many tourists had come to the city to celebrate next week’s anniversary of the monsters’ return to the Surface, and that meant waiting on a bunch of them at the fanciest human restaurant in town. The gig paid well, but the owner was a hard ass about everything. It was hard to keep up these days.

“THEN YOU NEED TO EAT!” He shoves the bowl over. “HOW HAS WORK BEEN LATELY ANYWAY?”

Sans mindlessly stirs the oatmeal. “eh. work is work. how about you? have the northwesterners said yes to that big proposal?”

Papyrus smacks his hands onto the table. “THOSE MONSTERS HAVE BEEN BOONDOGGLING EVERY STEP OF THE WAY! TWO DAYS AGO, THEY RESPONDED TO MY REQUEST FOR A MEETING BY SENDING ME A PAIR OF PURPLE SOCKS!”

“how scandalous.”

“I KNOW! I AM NOT SURE IF IT IS A CULTURAL MISUNDERSTANDING OR IF IT MEANS SOMETHING MORE, BUT YOU CAN JUST IMAGINE MY FACE WHEN I RECEIVED THE PACKAGE! UGH!”

“did you keep them?”

“DID I – WELL YES I KEPT THEM,” he admits, his face reddening. “IT WOULD BE RUDE NOT TO!”

“heh.”

“DO NOT LAUGH! THEIR BEHAVIOR IS DREADFUL! AND THEY HAVE NO CONSIDERATION FOR OUR SCHEDULES EITHER!”

Papyrus dissolves into a series of rants, going on and on about lost memorandums and annoying dogs running amok at important human-monster relations meetings. Sans nods and adds the occasional comment, but mostly he sits back and relaxes. It’s nice to spend time with Papyrus, and even this small discussion does a lot to ease the pain in his soul.

“ – NOT TO MENTION THERE WAS SLOBBER ALL OVER THE BIRTHDAY CAKE! UGH! POOR SUSIE HAD BEEN SO EXCITED FOR IT AND IT HAD ALL GONE TO WASTE.” He exhales loudly. “BUT I SUPPOSE I SHOULD NOT HAVE SAID ANY OF THAT.”

“huh? why not? is dog slobber an official ambassadorial secret? have i got the scoop on the next big scandal?”

“WELL I _WOULD_ APPRECIATE IF YOU DID NOT SPREAD THAT TO THE PRESS! HOWEVER, THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT! WHAT I MEAN TO SAY IS THAT I SPOILED A WHOLE EVENING’S WORTH OF CONVERSATION FOR YOU! YOU WILL NOT HAVE ANYTHING TO TALK ABOUT TONIGHT.”

“tonight?”

Papyrus blinks at him a few times before exclaiming, “DON’T TELL ME YOU FORGOT! THE ANNIVERSARY CELEBRATION!”

“what? i thought the anniversary was next week.” Sans reviews his internal calendar, trying to pinpoint today’s date. God, has he lost track of time again? He can’t remember the last time he had done that.

“YES, IT IS NEXT WEEK, BUT THE EMBASSY IS CELEBRATING TONIGHT, REMEMBER? OUR DEPARTMENT GETS THE OFFICIAL HOLIDAY OFF, OF COURSE.” Papyrus wrings his hands together. “PLEASE TELL ME YOU DON’T HAVE WORK TONIGHT.”

“uhhh...”

Papyrus crosses his arms against his chest as a touch of anger flashes across his features. The gesture sends a renewed surge of nausea through Sans.

“hey, don’t worry about it. i’m sure i’ve got someone who will cover my shift.”

Papyrus casts his gaze to the side. “SANS, YOU DO NOT HAVE TO GO.” As he says it, his voice wavers slightly, and Sans knows he’s more upset about this than he’s letting on.

“what? no, i wanna go.” Papyrus continues to look away, and Sans desperately grasps at his sweater, drawing his brother’s attention back towards him. “look, i promise i’ll be there. it’ll be great. you can introduce me to the interns, i’ll play a few pranks on ‘em, maybe even tell a joke or two to the king. it’ll be great!”

As he says it, he can feel the energy draining from his body. It’s not exactly his idea of fun to work a long shift at Grillby’s and then put on a smile for a bunch of bureaucratic monsters. Especially when he’s this exhausted and the day hasn’t even begun. Not to mention, he’s on thin ice with his boss at the other restaurant, and he doesn’t know if anyone can substitute on such short notice.

Yet the corners of his brother’s mouth slowly lift, and Sans can’t help but return the gesture.

“THE INTERNS WILL NEVER LET ME HEAR THE END OF IT!”

“yeah, heh. and with luck, they’ll learn a few of my jokes as well. you can’t work seven days a week without some _pun_ ishment.”

“SANS!”

“heh.” Sans glances at the clock and a heaviness settles in his chest. “speaking of work, you probably need to head off. you want me to take you on a shortcut?”

“WHILE I APPRECIATE THE OFFER, I NEED TO PICK UP A COUPLE THINGS FOR THE PARTY.” He pats Sans on the back gently. “THANK YOU THOUGH. I AM GLAD YOU ARE GOING TO BE THERE.”

“yeah, same here, bro.”

\---

Sans darts around the counter, dumping a container of dirty dishes next to the sink so he’ll wash them later. There’s no time to wash them now, not with the lunch rush coming in and all the tables he still needs to bus. A bell sounds nearby and he swears under his breath, immediately changing directions to pick up an order from the window.

It’s really hard to keep up with everything right now, especially since he can’t seem to stop shaking. The achiness from this morning never went away, and even though it’s been unusually cold and rainy all day, it feels like he’s taken a bath in the Hotland lava. Rivulets of sweat pour from his skull, and as he delivers a tray of food to the customers at table five, he has to make an effort not to let any spill into their meals.

As he turns to wipe down an empty table, his phone buzzes in his pocket. Without hesitating, he sits in the booth and pulls it out. He blinks past the blurriness in his vision to see the message, but when he does, his soul drops in his chest.

Zae can’t make it to the other restaurant tonight. It had been Sans’s last hope for the evening. His boss had said he could only skip his shift if Sans could find someone to cover for him. She hadn’t sounded pleased about it either. Of course no one is able to do it on such short notice, and Sans can’t really blame them, especially since it’s a weekend. Still, he had been hoping.

Guilt nestles inside Sans’s chest. There’s only a forty-five minute gap between his two jobs tonight. It’s not much time, but he’ll have to make do. He texts Paps explaining that he’ll be late and can stop by for only half an hour or so. He’s not breaking his promise, but he still feels like crap about it. If he could, he would skive off his second job. But he knows if he does, he’ll get fired. He hopes that Papyrus will understand.

“...Sans, what are you doing? We need to seat a ten topper, and the table still isn’t cleared.”

“right, right. sorry.”

Sans gets back to work, but he’s slow and fumbling a lot. As he cleans off the tables, one of his sweaty hands skates across the surface of an empty glass. It falls to the floor, its pieces scattering across the floor. At first Sans shrugs it off, but after he cleans it up, he hurries to retrieve the rest of the dishes and breaks another. And then another. His hands are too shaky, and he can hardly see straight as he’s working. Heat suffuses his cheeks as he scurries to sweep up the messes.

When he finally gets done wiping off the bulk of the tables and washing most of the dishes, he takes a moment to check his phone. Even though the timestamp reports that Papyrus saw the message well over an hour ago, his brother still hasn’t replied. Knowing Papyrus, it’s no accident. Sans knows he must be upset with him, and he can’t really blame him. He’s angry with himself for forgetting in the first place.

One of the waiters passes by him and asks him to take an order from table twelve. Sans nods, swallowing past the lump in his throat. He lumbers over to the group, barely noticing his surroundings, and pulls out a pad of paper to write on.

“heya, what can i get you?”

He copies down the order absentmindedly, allowing his thoughts to wander back to his brother and the party as he half-listens. All he wants to do is curl up on the floor and sleep. Or better yet, get to the party and make good on his promise.

As he finishes writing down the customers’ order, a sudden flash of light fills his vision. He slams his eyes shut as a biting pain strikes the inside of skull, assaulting the most sensitive parts of his sockets. He inhales sharply as the sensation travels across his skull, giving him one of the worst headaches he’s ever experienced in his life.

The customers are shaking him, asking if he’s okay, but it’s taking every bit of his willpower not to collapse to the ground. It feels as if something is burning a hole into his temples. Like his magic is erupting inside him. Back before he had control over his blasters, their liquid magic had occasionally dripped from their maws, flicking specks of raw energy onto Sans’s bone. It had felt like acid, just like now. His fingers dig into the surface of the table as he struggles not to fall over.

When the pain finally passes, he blinks his eyes open, but what he sees makes him even more nauseous than before. His vision is fractured, and a dozen different images play before him. It’s all the same scene – the customers are eyeing him with a mixture of pity and fear, their mouths moving as they continue to ask him if he needs help. But it’s distorted in the strangest of ways. Black cracks weave their way across his sight, obscuring his view, and yet his peripheral vision is extended beyond normal. He spots his coworker approaching him long before he typically can.

“Sans? What’s going on?” As Sans turns towards them, the color drains from his coworker’s face. “Oh my god, what’s wrong with your eyes?”

Sans shakes his head, and his vision blurs together in a kaleidoscope of colors. He closes his sockets again and clutches his head, doing his best not to throw up. His coworker grasps Sans, calls to Grillby for help, and leads him to the backroom.

Sans knows immediately when they reach the back of house; it has to be a good twenty degrees hotter. The heat seeps into his bones, and his legs sway beneath him. His coworker leads him to a chair, and Sans can only manage to choke out a faint “thank you” before collapsing in it.

The door slams shut and a soft crackling noise sounds through the room.

“...What’s going on?”

“Oh, Grillby, you’ve got to come see this. His eyes are all messed up!”

Sans presses into his eyelids and groans.

“...What do you mean?”

The temperature seems to climb, and Sans knows that Grillby must be close.

“Sans, show him.”

Sans tentatively opens his eyes. When he sees that his sight has returned to normal, he lets out a sigh of relief. Well, not exactly normal. It’s still blurry around the edges and it stings, but at least it’s a whole image instead of whatever it had been.

“Oh, that’s nothing like before! He had like ten lights in each of his sockets. It was freaky!”

“...Ten lights? What?” Grillby puts a hand to Sans’s forehead, and Sans can’t stop the whimper that escapes his mouth as the flames heat him further. “...Sans, you have a fever.”

“Crap, are you sick? Is that what happens with skeletons? They get all... eye-y?”

Sans shirks from Grillby’s touch. “no, that’s not... i don’t know.” He presses a hand to his head and feels waves of heat radiating from there. “i’m just feeling a little off. it was some weird magic thing or something.”

“…You need to rest.”

“eh, it was a fluke.”

“…No. Go home. You shouldn’t handle food if you’re sick.”

Sans is about to retort, but he snaps his mouth shut after glimpsing Grillby’s stern expression. Sighing, Sans leans back into the chair, feeling the tremendous ache in his bones. Grillby seems to take this as a sign that Sans has relented because he gives a cursory nod before rushing back into the restaurant in a blur.

“Do you want me to call Papyrus to pick you up?”

At the sound of his brother’s name, Sans’s soul churns. “nah, he’s probably too busy. ‘sides, i can get there no problem.”

“Are you sure?” His coworker casts a sideways glance at the door.

“yeah, don’t worry about it,” Sans says with a half-shrug. “i just need to rest a bit before i get outta here. my shortcuts will get me there faster than you.”

After double checking to make sure Sans is truly okay, his coworker joins Grillby in the other part of the restaurant, leaving him alone in blissful silence. After taking a few steadying breaths, he drags his phone from his pocket and sees Papyrus still hasn’t responded to him, and there’s no denying that his bro is mad at him. He knew he ought to let him know that he’s going home, but he’s worried that Papyrus might try to ditch the party.

The party. Now that he’s thinking about it, he’s getting off work way earlier than he had originally thought. He can manage standing around and punning for a good two hours. A smile alights his face. If he hurries, he can even stop by the store and grab an apology gift for Paps before the party officially starts. He sends off a quick message to Papyrus apologizing again and letting him know that he’ll be there in time. With that, he climbs to his aching feet and takes a shortcut to the grocery store next to Papyrus’s building.

As he materializes, a vice tightens around Sans’s soul, choking his breath. His surroundings blur together once again, and wooziness overwhelms him. He bends over, leaning his hands into his knees as he hyperventilates. With a quick shake of his head, he’s able to clear his sight. But it neither dispels the deep lethargy that tugs at his bones nor loosens his chest.

A large, hairy-armed demon monster edges into view and crouches down to Sans’s height.

“Hey, you okay there, bud?”

Warmth floods Sans’s cheekbones and he hurriedly straightens his posture so the other monster doesn’t have to stoop to his level.

“yeah, yeah,” he says between breaths. “i’m fine. i just need to catch my breath. used a bit too much magic to get here is all.” His eyes dart to the employee badge on the other monster’s shirt. “um... do you know where the pasta sauce is?”

The demon’s mouth curls into a friendly-but-still-concerned smile and they point toward aisle two. Sans nods a thank you and scuttles away as fast as his weary bones will allow. By the time he’s reached the aisle, he’s breathless again, and worse, his limbs are itchy. Ugh, perfect. He kind of wants to forget the whole thing because clearly something is wrong with his magic. But the thought of once again cancelling on Paps and leaving him to go to the party alone makes his soul clench.

He presses on, inching to the section of jarred pasta sauces in the middle of the aisle. He inspects the collection, trying to find Papyrus’s favorite (and most expensive) marinara. They hardly ever get it, but Sans wants to make it up his brother any way he can.

Except... it’s not here. In fact, none of his brother’s usual sauces are here. It’s like someone came through and deliberately cleaned out his favorites.

For some reason, this hits Sans like nothing else. Literally. Disappointment rips through him, and his entire body trembles. He stumbles forward, and though he tries to stop himself, he slams into the shelves. Jars of sauce topple downward, shattering loudly as they crash to the floor.

His knees buckle, and although he knows it’s too late, he automatically tries to grab ahold of the shelves. Yet as he tries to lift his heavy arms, they don’t respond. Nothing seems to be working right. He can’t feel any of his limbs, and as his skull hits the ground, his vision fractures once more. For a moment, he simply lies on the cool tile, too stunned to do anything else.

And then the pain hits him.

A shriek tears from his throat. He can’t help it. Something is slicing through his joints, cutting across his ribcage. As his scream trails off, he tries to call for help, but his words come out a garbled mess.

He twists his neck towards his body. With his sight so distorted, he can’t focus his gaze further than a few feet without getting an overwhelming headache. He can spot shards of glass and glops of pasta sauce spread around him. There’s so much of it, he’s sure that his eyes are playing tricks on him.

There _must_ be something wrong with them because there’s no way that what he’s seeing is right. How could his limbs be detached from his body? Yet he sees them sitting at least a foot away from his torso, smack in the middle of the broken glass.

He tries to flex his left arm. The limb twitches uselessly in a pool of tomato sauce and another lance of pain shoots through him. He lets out a ragged gasp as he smashes into the floor again and terror floods his mind.

He wants to thrash and scream, but every small movement causes Sans unbearable pain. Although he tries his best to keep completely still, it’s difficult when he’s shaking so badly. He’s so afraid that his skull will pop right off his spine, and he doesn’t know if he can survive that amount of pain. Tears run down his face and fall onto the floor, mixing with the spilled marinara.

There’s activity around him, but he’s too focused on his body to really pay any attention. So when someone suddenly lifts him, he isn’t expecting it. He releases a primal scream as his body is inflicted with the worst pain he’s ever experienced. It’s more than he can handle and his mind shatters.

\---

Something jerks at the edge of Sans’s consciousness, nudging him to wake up. He doesn’t want to. His sockets are weighed with exhaustion, his body feels like it’s on fire, and he doesn’t want to work. If he could just sleep forever, that would be great. No more restaurant jobs, mind-numbing pain, or guilt from being a crappy brother.

At the last thought, there’s a loud beeping noise, and a sudden uproar of voices fill his skull. They’re loud and urgent and entirely overwhelming. For a brief second, he wants to open his eyes to see who is speaking. But as he shifts his arm ever-so-slightly, he is reminded of why he wants to stay asleep.

Yet he can’t. The pain is too great and he can’t catch his breath. He’s gasping and spluttering, drool spilling down his chin. An intense pressure is wrapped around his chest, squeezing him tight. He can’t breathe, can’t breathe, _can’t breathe_.

His mouth is pried open and something hard presses to the back of his throat. He doesn’t have the wherewithal to do anything about it, but whatever it is soon blocks his breathing. Panic bubbles in his chest, and he tries to spit it out, but his magic won’t respond properly.

As he struggles with the object in his mouth, a sudden aura of ill intent cascades around him, oozing into his bones. For a moment, it paralyzes him, and he can’t think or act or anything else. But then it sinks in: a human is going to kill him. Or worse.

The threat is so overwhelming, so _immediate_ that it flicks a switch in Sans’s mind. Out of instinct more than anything, he reaches for his magic to protect him. But the moment he tries to summon an attack, he instantly regrets it. His soul materializes in his chest and pain inundates every inch of him. A loud screech fills his skull. He’s so caught up in what’s happening to his body that it takes him a few seconds to realize that it’s his own voice ripping from his throat.

Even though it makes his soul spasm even more, he summons his eyelights. All around him are humans, each bedecked in a pristine lab coat. They’re towering over him, their brows furrowed with ugly scowls. Many of them have their hands on his ribcage, pushing his chest down to the bed. Their mouths are moving a mile a minute, but Sans can’t understand a word they’re saying.

Sans doesn’t really care about that anyway. Not when one of the humans is _arm-deep in his chest_.

Whatever mechanism the humans have put in his mouth blocks his startled cry. He wants to scream again, not only because there’s a human friggin’ inside him, but also because he knows the human has been there the whole time. Yet it was like his mind hadn’t recognized it. What’s wrong with him?

Not only that, but malicious intent is rolling off the grey-haired human in waves. Sans watches in horror as they gently nudge a bright white object from his ribcage. _His soul_.

No, no, no! No one can touch his soul! Especially not a human who is clearly out to dust him!

He tries to move his chest, but the other humans have too firm a grip on him. And when he attempts to lift his arms, the pain reminds him that they’re not attached to his body.

But his desperation is too great; he won’t let anyone steal his soul. He refuses to let anyone hurt him that way again. He tries to summon a blaster, something he swore to never do again unless Papyrus is in grave danger. His attempt is fruitless; nothing manifests, and all he manages to do is inflict more pain. He collapses against the bed in a sweaty and rattling mess.

When he’s able to collect himself, he watches as the human urges the soul to a flat, metal surface not too far from the bed. As soon as the organ has completed its journey, the human scoops up a needle and before Sans can think about stopping him, they stick it inside his soul and press the plunger.

Immediately Sans can feel the effects of whatever they’ve injected. His bones go lax and he lowers into the bed, no longer able to strain against the humans. He must’ve been holding his breath because as soon as he hits the pillow, a sudden whoosh of air fills his throat. The machine in his mouth forces him to take even breaths, and heavenly oxygen flows to his soul. The humans back away from him, and when they talk this time, their words are comprehensible.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay.” A human tilts Sans’s head so he’s forced to look up at them. “We need you to stay awake for a bit, love. Just until we can get you all fixed up. You can do that, right?”

Sans nods once, but he whimpers as the movement causes his spine to shift.

“Very good. Now tell me, do you have someone we can –”

But Sans’s focus is drawn back to his soul. How couldn’t it be? He can no longer feel the human’s malevolent aura – maybe it’s the drug or maybe the human no longer intends ill – but they’re still holding his life in the palm of their hands. The gloved hands poke and prod along its surface, sending painful shivers through him with every touch. It’s driving him mad that he can’t use his magic or, hell, even lift an arm.

Especially when the human slices his soul with a scalpel.

Sans’s eyelights shrink to pinpricks and he chokes on a gasp. This is it. He’s going to die. No one can withstand this sort of pain. Yet he can’t wrench his gaze away, even as the human kills him. He watches as they push a small, cylindrical object inside. The white light readily engulfs the foreign object, and Sans can feel it cling to the organ’s walls.

The sensation of having something solid inside his soul is so gross, so wrong. He garbles out a desperate plea for them to stop, but it never leaves his mouth. Unconsciousness claws at his vision, obscuring his mind. Distantly he can hear one of the humans yelling for him to stay awake. But he can’t. Any more of this and he might lose his mind.

\---

The next time Sans awakes, he can sense that he’s no longer in imminent peril. It’s much too quiet and still. He can hear the gentle hum of a nearby machine and the sound of air whooshing into his throat. The mechanism continues to make him take deep, steady breaths as oxygen is pumped to his soul.

He can hear something else too. Like someone rustling papers. Unlike the breathing apparatus, the noise isn’t constant; it only happens every ten seconds or so. He can’t place the sound, and although he attempts to ignore it, eventually his curiosity gets the better of him. Reluctantly, he cracks open his sockets.

He’s lying in a bed in the middle of a softly lit room. Now that one human’s horrifying presence isn’t distracting him from his surroundings, it’s obvious that he’s in a hospital. The smell of disinfectant clings to his nasal cavity, and his bed is surrounded with familiar green-tinted curtains.

White bandages cover his upper body. Although he’s too nervous to move them, the sight fills him with relief. It hadn’t really sunk in, given the urgency of his situation at the time, but he had been so afraid that he had lost his limbs forever. He wonders how the doctors reattached them, and how exactly they had fallen off in the first place.

The bandages are not the only signs of medical intervention. His soul, which has dimmed considerably since he last saw it, is tucked safely within his ribcage. Wires trail from its faint glow to nearby machines that emit an almost inaudible beep every few seconds. The instruments display a variety of nonsensical data that Sans can only assume pertain to the status of his soul.

Though every inch of him aches, he turns his head to the right. His soul twists as he spots the source of the previously-unidentified rustling noise.

Papyrus is seated in a low-sitting chair. Well, that’s a bit of a misstatement. It’s more like his brother is half in the chair and half in the bed with Sans. His skull and upper torso are smashed into the edge of the mattress, crunching up the sheets. One of his arms is stretched across the bed, running parallel to Sans’s body.

Even though Papyrus is in Sans’s space, he’s somehow managed to avoid contact with him. It’s pathetic how much Sans wants to reach out and grab his brother right now. But he knows if he does, he’ll wake him.

Papyrus must have fallen asleep while reading because a large book is nestled neatly on his lap. It’s open to a complex diagram of a puzzle development schematic. At first Sans wonders if his brother’s page-turning had been the cause of the noise, and if he’s just fallen asleep. However, a few seconds later, he realizes that’s not the case. Paps releases a faint snore, and as his breath falls across the book, the page flutters in the wind.

A smile plays across Sans’s face, but it quickly disappears. Unlike Sans, his brother doesn’t just sleep in odd positions like this. If he’s asleep like this, he probably stayed up for far too long, out of his mind with worry, before passing out at Sans’s bedside.

His soul brightens as a flash of pain needles through him. One of the nearby machines produces a high-pitched beep. His brother starts from the noise, shifting his arm against Sans’s. Almost immediately, Papyrus releases a sharp gasp and pulls away. As soon as he’s sitting upright, he raises his hands as if trying to ward off Sans from touching him anymore.

“AAH! BROTHER, I AM SO SORRY. I DIDN’T MEAN TO DO THAT! OH NO, OH NO, I BETTER GET THE DOCTORS, I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT I – I –” He stops midsentence as he stares into Sans’s eye sockets. “SANS? ARE YOU AWAKE?”

Sans answers, but the mechanism obstructs his speech. It doesn’t matter. As soon as the muffled noise leaves Sans’s throat, Papyrus burbles out a stream of words that Sans can hardly comprehend.

“YOU’RE AWAKE! OH MY GOODNESS, I CANNOT BELIEVE IT! THE DOCTORS SAID IT WAS GOING TO BE A FEW MORE HOURS BEFORE YOU WOKE UP, BUT HERE YOU ARE! OH, I WAS SO SCARED AND NOW I’M SO HAPPY AND RELIEVED AND EXCITED AND – AND – AND – I’M SO SORRY, SANS! WILL YOU EVER FORGIVE ME? I GOT HERE SO LATE AND I DIDN’T KNOW YOU WERE HURT AND I WAS A HORRIBLE, NO-GOOD, ROTTEN BROTHER!”

Papyrus bursts into tears. Sans wants nothing more than to console him, but his brother is being so loud that there’s no way he can hear his stifled attempts at speech over the din.

“Mr. Skeleton!” a scandalized voice admonishes, cutting across Papyrus’s wailing. Sans’s eyes zip towards the front of the room and spies a fish monster in nurse scrubs. “I know that it has been an emotional day, but there are other patients here and –” They pause as they spot Sans. “Oh! You’re awake!”

“YES,” Papyrus sniffles. “I WOKE HIM UP.”

“Oh, the doctor was just at the desk, let me – ”

They stick their head out the door and call for someone. When they come back inside the room, they’re accompanied by the grey-haired human that had sliced into Sans’s soul. Sans suppresses the instinct to fling a wave of bones their way.

“Hello, Mr. Skeleton. How are you feeling?”

Sans responds by releasing a frustrated huff of air.

“Ah, yes, we’ll get that removed in a moment. Let’s check your vitals first.”

They walk to the machine and scroll through Sans’s data, while the nurse brings a tray of instruments to the bedside.

Sans’s eyes, however, are drawn to Papyrus. His brother is still crying, albeit much more quietly than before. He’s bunched up the hem of his red sweater and is wringing the life out of it. All Sans wants to do is reach out for him, to tell him that he’s okay. Sans twitches his hand to grab his attention, but his brother’s sockets are clenched shut. Disappointment bites at Sans, causing his soul to coil with pain.

A loud beep fills in the air, and Sans glances back at the medical instruments. The doctor’s eyes are no longer on the machine, but are trained on Sans. Their mouth is stretched into a knowing smile as they look between Sans and Papyrus.

“Mr. Skeleton – actually, your name is Papyrus, right?” Papyrus jolts at being addressed directly and finally opens his eyes. “If you promise to be gentle, you can hold your brother’s hand while we remove the machine. I think it would help him.”

Papyrus immediately takes the doctor’s suggestion and rushes to Sans’s side. His touch is ever so soft, but the contact means the world. Sans squeezes back, ignoring the achiness that pulses through his phalanges as he does so. A couple more beeps resound through the room, but Sans is too focused on his brother to care.

As Papyrus wipes at his sockets with his free hand, the nurse bends over Sans and carefully pries his mouth open. They poke their fingers inside Sans’s mouth and a moment later an object scrapes against his throat. He chokes and splutters as the nurse drags it out, the rough abrasion irritating his magic. His fingers tighten around Papyrus’s, and his brother squeezes back reassuringly.

The nurse channels a stream of green magic into his throat, soothing his discomfort. As his cough tapers off, the nurse pulls away, a grim smile on their face.

“There you are. Sorry I can’t do anything for the rest of your body. Not until your soul has a chance to heal up on its own a while.”

“Yes,” the doctor says. “You’re going to need time to recover before we use any more magic on it. How are you feeling?”

“heh.” Even though his throat is no longer sore, his voice comes out somewhat raspy. “i’d say ‘i’m falling apart’ but it looks like you fixed that up pretty fast.” Papyrus lets out a small sob, and Sans squeezes his hand and flashes him an apologetic smile. “sorry, not funny. i’m real achy, doc. but nowhere near as bad as i was.”

The doctor nods. “Tell me, have you been working a lot of hours lately?”

“yeah, got three jobs.”

“And you haven’t been spending a lot of time with loved ones, have you?”

Sans shifts a little. “not really. been a bit stressed about it, actually.”

The doctor clasps their hands together and nods. “That makes sense. I think that stress is the likely culprit for all this.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?”

“It’s just a theory I have. A lot of monsters have been coming with unusual symptoms such as yours. Fur falling out, odd rashes, their magic output uncontrollable. All sorts of monsters too – dragons, fish, rock monsters. And each and every one of them had been overworking.”

Sans swallows. “i used to work three jobs all the time in the underground. not sure how there’s any difference from back then.”

“Well, it may have built up over time. But if I may suggest a personal observation? I believe it is because you have not been feeding any love to your soul lately.”

“love?”

“Yes, monsters are made of magic and love, correct? You eat food to restore your energy, but you can’t neglect your other needs.” They shake their head solemnly. “I’ve noticed that so many of your kind have become quite isolated since coming to the Surface. And I think that may be the cause of your malady here. Not enough time spent with friends and family.”

Papyrus sniffles again and the noise sends a tremor through Sans. He wants to throw up. This was... all his fault. Ugh, if he had spent some time with Papyrus last night, maybe they could’ve avoided this whole fiasco.

The doctor explains how the device they inserted into his soul is pumping a steady supply of magic so that his limbs will gradually reattach. They assure him that the most painful part is over, but that they’ll have to keep him for observation for at least another day.

As they speak, Sans’s eyelids grow heavier and heavier. By the end of the explanation, he’s ready for a long nap. The doctor excuses themself and tells Sans to get plenty of rest. When the nurse and the doctor leave, Sans revels in his shared isolation with his brother. But as he starts to doze off, Papyrus loosens his grip and begins to pull his hand away.

“don’t,” Sans pleads.

“I –” Papyrus inhales sharply, drawing his snot back into his nasal cavity. “I’M SORRY, SANS.”

“it’s okay. i just want you close. you know i don’t like hospitals much.”

“THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT.”

Sans cracks open an eye and sees that tears are still flowing down his brother’s face.

“I’M SORRY I HAVEN’T BEEN AROUND LATELY. THIS IS ALL MY FAULT.”

“what? no, not at all, paps.”

“IT’S TRUE! IF I HADN’T BEEN WORKING SO LATE –”

“i’ve been workin’ later than you most nights. _i_ should be sorry that i bailed on _you_. especially with that party. i can’t believe i forgot.”

“I WAS... SO UPSET!”

“you had every right to be.”

Papyrus shakes his head. “NOT ABOUT THE PARTY. ABOUT YOU! WHEN I GOT YOUR FIRST MESSAGE, I SAID TO MYSELF: ‘THE GREAT PAPYRUS DOES NOT NEED A PARTY TO SPEND TIME WITH HIS BEST BROTHER! HE, THAT IS TO SAY, I CAN DO THAT ALL ON MY OWN!’”

“uhh...”

“IN OTHER WORDS, I WAS GOING TO SKIP THE PARTY AND MAKE YOU DINNER. I LEFT EARLY. I WAS GOING TO CALL YOU BEFORE YOU GOT OFF WORK AS A SURPRISE.”

“what? you didn’t have to do that.”

“I WANTED TO! BUT THEN YOU MESSAGED ME SAYING YOU WERE ON THE WAY, AND I HAD TO RUN BACK TO WORK AS FAST AS I COULD BEFORE YOU GOT THERE!”

Sans can imagine Papyrus barreling through the city, knocking over other pedestrians as he sprinted to get to the embassy in time.

“why didn’t you call me right then?”

“BECAUSE I FIGURED YOU WERE EXCITED ABOUT IT! I KNEW ONCE YOU SAW THOSE DECORATIONS I PUT UP, NOTHING WOULD DETER YOU FROM STAYING!”

“i’m sure they were wonderful, bro.”

“THEY WERE! BUT YOU NEVER SAW THEM! YOU NEVER SHOWED UP AT ALL! I WAS SO DISAPPOINTED. I SIMPLY COULD NOT BE CONSOLED. EVEN UNDYNE COULD NOT DISTRACT ME, AND SHE TRIED ALL EVENING WITH HER NEW MOTORCYCLE. SHE KEPT DOING WHEELIES AND SWITCHBACKS AND HYPERSPINS! BUT EVEN THE SICKEST OF TRICKS COULD NOT PLACATE MY ANGER!”

“wait, wasn’t this an indoor party?”

“BUT THEN THE HOSPITAL CALLED, AND THEY TOLD ME YOU WERE IN SURGERY, AND THAT THEY NEEDED ME TO COME DOWN HERE, AND I – I – OH SANS, I THOUGHT YOU WERE DYING.”

Papyrus erupts into tears again. Sans is too weak and tired to do a whole lot to calm his brother, and he probably needs to cry it out anyway. So he decides to let him.

“hey, it’s okay,” he rasps as he weekly tugs at Papyrus’s sweater. “come here.”

A puzzled expression crosses his brother’s face. Sans replies by softly patting the bed, sending jolts of pain up his arm. Papyrus looks doubtful but he climbs onto the bed nevertheless. Sans can’t move much with the wires poking into his chest, but he somehow manages to drag his brother next to him.

“how about a hug?”

Papyrus throws himself around Sans. His movements are still overly gentle, as if he’s afraid he’s going to break him, but it still has all the enthusiasm of his normal hugs. Sobs wrack his brother’s body, and Sans consoles him by petting Papyrus’s hand.

“i’m not dead and i’m not dying,” he reassures.

“I KNOW, BUT YOU COULD HAVE DIED. JUST LIKE THAT. WHILE I WAS WATCHING UNDYNE DO A WHEELIE.”

“well, i didn’t. and if i had, it wouldn’t have been your fault, y’know?”

Papyrus’s waterworks kick in full gear, his weeping so intense that it shakes the bed. The movements jostle Sans’s body, but he ignores the pain and allows his brother to release his emotions. All throughout, he rubs Papyrus’s hand. He only hopes that the gesture is as comforting for Paps as it is for him.

By the time his brother’s sobs turn into sniffles, Sans’s body is weighed with exhaustion. He wants to sleep, but if he does, Papyrus will stay up forever. Literally. He knows that his brother will overthink everything and refuse to sleep just to make sure Sans doesn’t keel over.

“hey, bro, i’m real tired. how about you read me a few pages of your manual?”

Papyrus wipes at the wetness on his face. “MANUAL?”

“yeah, you brought your puzzle manual, right? i don’t think i can fall asleep without some help. you know how that goes.”

Papyrus sniffs and nods before scooping up the book from the chair. Sans grins appreciatively as his brother turns to where he left off. He begins reading a section on snow-resistant electrical wiring, his tongue stumbling and halting over the complex word. But the further he goes, the more relaxed he becomes. Soon his crying stops altogether and he recites the manual with ease.

Throughout it all, Papyrus’s eyes droop and his bones sag. It doesn’t take long before he’s dozed off and his light snoring is filling the room once again. Sans stifles a yawn – he doesn’t want to undo all his hard work – and lets all his weight fall into the bed. He allows his brother’s gentle breathing to act as a lullaby, and eases into his own deep sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
> \- Thanks to Purr for the initial apology pun!  
> \- I have at least one more chapter planned after this, probably two or more. This fic is really self-indulgent for me so I like writing it after I've just gone through an illness lmao

Something yanks at Sans’s consciousness, dragging him his blissful sleep. He had been dreaming – something about a package of instant noodles in a blender – but already the images are fading from his memory, lost to the furthest reaches of his subconscious. As he awakens, the familiar aches and pains he had been semi-successfully ignoring the past few hours creep into his joints.

It’s way too early to wake up. He can feel it deep in his bones. Thankfully, his sleep meds obviously haven’t worn off completely – or maybe he’s just used to sleeping every chance he gets – because he’s already sinking back under, his thoughts fading –

That’s when Sans hears it: Papyrus clacking away at his keyboard.

The typing is hard, and like everything his brother does, energetic. He must be working on a project late into the night, making sure he meets some deadline before heading to bed. Sans can almost see the laptop screen through his closed eyes, lighting up the otherwise dark hospital room.

He’s not sure why he’s surprised considering that’s how it’d been the last couple days, but he is. And yet, something about it warms Sans’s soul. Probably because his brother working. It’s selfish, Sans knows that, but he’s happy that Papyrus is concentrating on something other than taking care of him for a while.

Plus his bro is taking care of the bills that are steadily mounting.

Sans shuts the thought out, getting rid of it as fast as he can because if he doesn’t he’ll be up all night, drowning in anxiety. Instead he focuses on the sound of Papyrus’s fingers slamming against the keyboard in his mad dash to get his work done, reminding him of how proud he is to have such a super cool brother. The noise is hypnotic, and it’s not hard to let it lull him into a peaceful sleep.

The next time he awakens, however, he isn’t nearly as calm.

“YES, I AM AWARE THAT IT IS TERMITE SWARMING SEASON,” Papyrus barks, “BUT I FAIL TO UNDERSTAND WHAT THAT HAS TO DO WITH CURRENT NEGOTIATIONS!”

For a moment, Sans lies there, eyes closed, struggling to adjust to waking up to the sound of what’s clearly turning into an argument. Yet as he comes to, there’s none of that warmth he experienced earlier. Everything aches much more profoundly, from his head to his toes, and he wishes it would just go away.

But worse than that is just how irritated he is. Frustration boils within him, churning like the unforgiving sea, at being woken up _again_ like this.

As he realizes this, an overwhelming sense of guilt quickly follows. If he could move his arms, he would bury himself under the covers just to hide from his own shame.

In the end, it’s a good thing he can’t move because the nearby machine, predictably, beeps, going off as loud as an air horn at a funeral.

“HOLD ON A SECOND.”

Papyrus goes quiet, and Sans can feel his eyes raking over him, inspecting him for any sign that he’s awake. Sans feigns sleep, breathing deeply in a way he hopes isn’t suspicious. His brother must not detect anything is amiss because after a few seconds he goes back to his telephone conversation.

“I APOLOGIZE MOST PROFUSELY FOR THAT,” he says, and though his voice still carries, he’s lowered it into a semblance of a whisper. “AS I WAS SAYING, I DID NOT REALIZE THE CULTURAL IMPLICATIONS OF BUG-EATING, BUT YOU CAN REST ASSURED THAT I WILL MAKE EVERY EFFORT TO FINISH THE DISCUSSIONS WITH THE NORTHWESTERNERS BEFORE THE TERMITES SWARM.”

Sans holds back a sigh of relief at not being caught, though that only makes his guilt worse.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to hang out with his bro. He does, he truly does. But getting up right now would mean facing the hospital. The smell of the disinfectant. The nurses prodding his bones. The sight of the other patients through the door, staring at him with those eyes as wide as saucers.

Everything is foreign – and yet horribly, terribly familiar – and unfriendly, and uncomfortable, and everything else. He just wants to be home, recovering in his own bed, squirreled away from the rest of the world. It’s bad enough that he’s stuck here, but to be forced to show off this disaster to everyone? It’s the icing on the cake.

So he tries to go back to snooze off again, but this time there’s no rhythmic noise to fall asleep to. It’s just Papyrus’s voice, which keeps fluctuating in volume, a “whisper” one moment and near-screeching the next. Every syllable drives a screw into his soul, heightening his stress levels to their peak until the only thing that’s left with him are his negative thoughts and anxieties.

God, he wishes that his bro would just go to work. He enjoys his company. More than anything really. Even when he’s waking him up too early, or making him eat the cruddy hospital food, or staying at the hospital to make sure Sans is safe, healing, and not overexerting himself.

But it’s really the last part that unsettles Sans. Papyrus insists on remaining here, even when it’s clear he needs to go into the office.

Sans’s soul roils at the thought of his brother losing his job, after all they’ve worked for. It’s going to be a while before Sans is back on his feet, and he’s not sure they’re going to be able to keep the apartment as is, so if Papyrus doesn’t leave when he clearly needs to, Sans might just lose it.

Sans flinches as the machine beeps again.

Without missing a beat, Papyrus asks, “SANS, IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT?” This time, when he doesn’t answer, Papyrus huffs, “I KNOW YOU ARE AWAKE, BROTHER.”

Defeated, Sans creaks his eyes open. To his right sits his brother, his hand clasped over his phone. He’s staring at Sans, grey bags of sleeplessness beneath his sockets. A worried frown is splayed across his skull, and he’s hovering over his chair like he’s ready to get up and fuss. Or worse, like he’s going to get the doctor.

“sorry, bro,” Sans croaks. “just had a weird dream. go back to your call.”

Papyrus isn’t dissuaded. “IF YOU ARE IN PAIN, WE SHOULD CONTACT THE NURSE.”

“i’m not in pain. at least no more than usual.”

“SANS.”

“no, really.”

“ _SANS_.”

“i’m just mad at myself for not being able to fall back asleep.”

Papyrus sighs and uncovers his phone. “SORRY, YES, I AM HERE, THOUGH I WILL HAVE TO CALL YOU BACK.”

“paps, you don’t gotta – ”

Papyrus waves him off as he continues speaking. “NO, NO, I WILL BE READY WITHIN THE NEXT COUPLE OF DAYS, I PROMISE YOU.” He nods even though only Sans can see him. “UNDERSTOOD! I WILL DO MY BEST. AND, AS THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AMBASSADOR FOR ALL RECENTLY LIBERATED MONSTERS, MY BEST IS OF A CALIBER UNLIKE ANYONE ELSE’S! YOU CAN COUNT ON ME!”

He’s puffing out his chest and makes his declaration with such gusto that Sans can’t help but smile even though dread is weighing on his chest. His grin fades away, however, when Papyrus pockets his phone and turns towards Sans. Though his brother’s mouth is turned upwards, his usual dimples are missing and there’s a hint of somberness to his features. The way he shifts his hand to Sans’s shoulder, careful not to touch where his arm connects, reminds Sans that he’s afraid of breaking him.

Sans clenches his eyes shut, not wanting to look at his brother.

“I CAN TELL WHEN YOU ARE LYING TO ME AND I WISH YOU WOULDN’T.”

“heh. i don’t think that’s gonna be possible for a while, paps. can’t do much else but _lie_ around with limbs like these.”

There’s a pregnant pause, and then: “SANS!”

Though it comes out hollow, Sans chuckles softly, trying to lighten the mood. Or maybe he’s just to lighten _his_ mood because his chest still feels inexplicably tight with anger. But his laughter is cut short when he opens his eyes and sees the expression on Papyrus’s face.

“NO PUNS, BROTHER,” Papyrus scolds. “TELL ME WHAT IS WRONG.”

Since it’s the only real movement he can make, Sans grips the bed softly. “listen, i know you’re freaked out right now, but you don’t gotta be. i’m getting better.”

“I KNOW YOU ARE. EVERY DAY THE NURSE SAYS YOU HAVE IMPROVED.”

“yeah, so… i think you should go back to work. you don’t gotta… i don’t know, worry about taking care of me. it’s better that you get your job done.”

Papyrus straightens his posture but doesn’t let go of Sans. “NONSENSE! I AM FULLY CAPABLE OF DOING MY DUTIES REMOTELY.”

“yeah?”

“YES! MY WORK HAS BEEN NOTHING BUT STELLAR THESE LAST FEW DAYS! EVERYONE IS QUITE IMPRESSED WITH THE QUALITY, ESPECIALLY SINCE I AM CARING FOR YOU. MY BOSS EVEN COMMENDED ME FOR IT JUST YESTERDAY.”

“i remember you telling me about it.”

In truth, he had overheard pretty much the entire conversation – it had been hard not to with him glowing from the praise just inches away – but Papyrus had repeated every word nonetheless. Sans had enjoyed listening to his brother’s achievements.

“but what about this meeting with the northwesterners? don’t you need to prep for ‘em? the meeting is by next week, right?”

“PERHAPS SOONER, FROM THE SOUNDS OF IT. BUT FEAR NOT! MY TEAM IS INCREDIBLY ADEPT AT DEALING WITH FOREIGN MONSTERS EVEN WITHOUT MY AID!”

“but –”

“I KNOW YOU ARE CONCERNED THAT YOU ARE TAKING TOO MUCH OF MY TIME, BUT BELIEVE ME, I AM FINE. IF NEED BE, I SHALL GO INTO THE OFFICE.” He gently squeezes Sans’s shoulder. “HOWEVER, RIGHT NOW THE BEST COURSE OF ACTION IS TO STAY HERE AND MAKE SURE YOU GET BETTER.”

The irritation gnaws at Sans’s soul. “you don’t need to babysit me. i got nowhere i need to be.”

Except work so he could make money for them.

“and i can’t even move, so even if i did, i’d just be sitting right here when you got back.”

“SANS,” Papyrus says warily, “GIVEN YOUR CONDITION…”

“what?” He doesn’t want to argue, he really doesn’t, but he can’t seem to help himself. “given my condition, what?”

“I THINK YOU SHOULD NOT BE ALONE FOR SOME TIME.”

“so you just aren’t going to leave me alone ever again?”

Papyrus’s eyes narrow. “THAT IS, OF COURSE, NOT WHAT I MEANT!”

“then what? you can’t work from the hospital forever.”

“THIS IS TRUE! BUT THIS IS ONLY TEMPORARY!”

“for how long?”

“FOR AS LONG AS IT TAKES,” he says, voice stern. “YOU NEED TO GET BETTER.”

Sans can tell he’s pushed him too far, that if he continues that Papyrus will start getting teary. In the end, even if Paps was crying and upset, he would stay, just to make sure Sans wouldn’t fall apart.

And that’s all fine and dandy, but it doesn’t help Sans at all. Not when all his frustrations are building to such a fervor, he wonders if his soul might burst from the pressure of holding back a retort. He clings to the bed, desperate to give his hands something to do so he doesn’t say anything he’d regret.

And that’s when the door to the room bursts open and Undyne barges in with a loud “SURPRISE!”

Both Sans and Papyrus gasp at the sudden entrance, but it’s Papyrus that reacts the most violently. In his shock, his hand slips and presses down against the lower joint of Sans’s shoulder, causing the recently reattached arm to spark with a pain so sharp it has his eyes watering.

“crap!” he mutters through clenched teeth. “ow, ow, ow!”

“OH NO, I AM SO SORRY!” Papyrus draws his hand back an inch, his eyes bugging out, and then gently pats where his hand had just been in a would-be comforting gesture.

“aah, god, please don’t touch it!”

“SORRY, SORRY, SORRY!” This time he snatches his hand away completely, cheeks flushed red and his brows drawn up with obvious guilt. “I DID NOT MEAN TO HURT YOU!”

Beads of tears clutch to Sans’s eye sockets as he shuts them tight and breathes deeply. At the moment it’s all he can do while he lets the pain work its course. He only hopes that Papyrus hasn’t dislodged the bone or he’ll need to have another surgery. He just isn’t sure he has the fortitude to go through another right now.

“Woah, you really _are_ in rough shape.”

Sans opens his eyes and sees Undyne gawking at him, her face blushing. She’s got a motorcycle helmet tucked under her arm, making her arm jut out so she appears bulkier than usual. Her gaze is trained on him and there’s something to her expression that Sans has a hard time identifying. Is she… flustered?

It takes him a few seconds to realize she’s not making eye contact with him, but is instead staring openly at his chest. No, not his chest, his _soul_. It’s sitting in plain sight, wires and tubes sticking out of it, pulsing with its faint glow.

Right about now, there’s nothing he’d like to do more than to hide. Since he can’t, he does the next best thing.

“uhh. rude?” he snaps.

Undyne’s eye widens incrementally and she shakes her head, her blush deepening. “Crap, sorry, Sans, I –”

Something hard crashes against the closed door, causing everyone to jump.

“Ouch!” someone squeaks. “Um, a-a little help here please?”

“Oh! Alphys!”

Undyne finally tears her gaze from Sans and drops her helmet to the floor to fling the door open the rest of the way. Hidden behind an oversized bouquet of pink peonies, Alphys stumbles forward, spilling water down her front and onto the floor. Just as she is about to fall completely, Undyne catches her by the arm.

“Th-thanks,” Alphys mumbles as she adjusts her grip on the vase.

“Hon, let me get that for you –”

“I-I’ve got it! Just, um, tell me where I can put this?”

The end table to Sans’s left is currently occupied by the gift Grillby had given him a couple days ago: a slender vase containing three tiger lilies pared down into a minimalist arrangement. Even though it’s not much, there’s no way that even if they push the vase to the corner that the table will fit the additional bursting bouquet.

“OH!” Papyrus shouts as he springs up from the chair. “OVER HERE IN THE CORNER.”

He indicates an opening where the machines’ cords are plugged into the wall. It’s spacious enough for the plants, and Alphys wastes no time in squeezing past the bed and into the corner so she can carefully lower the hefty vase to the floor. The hospital staff are sure to throw a fit later, but for now it’s the perfect spot.

When Alphys is done, she collapses into the bedside chair, her clothes rumpled and drenched. She’s gasping for breath and Sans hopes she doesn’t pass out, though he supposes that there’s no better place to do it with all these doctors running around.

The completion of her task leaves behind an awkward silence that weighs heavily on the room. Papyrus is standing next to Undyne, and he’s avoiding eye contact with Sans, his arms crossed against his chest. And while Undyne isn’t looking at Sans’s soul anymore, you can tell she’s got to make every effort not to do it again. He can’t entirely blame her – there are usually only a few, _intimate_ circumstances that you actually see a soul out in the open like that.

Still, this is exactly why Sans doesn’t want guests.

Undyne clears her throat and throws up her arms. “So! Uh, surprise again!” When no one replies for a few seconds she rubs the back of her neck and continues, “We… err… Well, we thought we’d pay you guys an impromptu visit since we both got the day off!” She flashes a wavering smile at Alphys. “Isn’t that right, Alphys?”

Alphys nods though doesn’t say anything. She’s still catching her breath.

“WELL! WE WERE CERTAINLY SURPRISED!”

“yup, you could say that. so much surprise i don’t think i’ll be able to feel anything in this arm again.

The moment he says it, he regrets it. Papyrus holds his arms closer to his chest, and another bout of silence rings loudly through the room. Usually it would be up to Sans or his brother to curb the awkwardness with one of their jokes or stories, but… Sans really isn’t up for it right now. He’s tired, grouchy, and not in the mood to apologize even if it’s his fault.

Undyne, however, seems insistent on trying to break them out of it.

“So what have you two been up to anyway?” she asks, with that same twitching smile stretched across her face.

Sans tilts his head. “really?”

She’s glaring daggers at him now, and when Sans catches a glimpse of Papyrus’s expression, he decides to play along.

“well, i guess the same as you. i’ve just been a’resting.”

Undyne blinks. “What? I haven’t been resting, I’ve been working my butt off.”

Papyrus immediately gets it and lets out an overdramatic sigh. “HE MEANS ‘ARRESTING.’ AS IN, HE IS SLEEPING, BUT YOU ARE CATCHING CRIMINALS.”

“Ugh… What the hell, Sans.”

Alphys snorts loudly and then covers her mouth as her face turns a bright shade of red. Her expression is enough to set Sans’s own laughter off, and though the movement causes the pain to spread throughout his limbs, it feels good. Soon Alphys is joining in again and, even though it wasn’t one of his best zingers, he’s kind of proud of the pun. Even Undyne’s mouth is twitching, and Sans is sure that if Papyrus were turned towards him, he would see him trying to hide his own smile.

The laughter eventually fades away, and he feels winded once again, ready for another nap. It’s nice and dark in the room – perfect for getting some shuteye.

Undyne notices the lighting in the room as well. “God, don’t you guys get any sunlight? It’s like a coffin in here!”

“UNDYNE!” Papyrus shouts as he twists around. “THAT IS A VERY INAPPROPRIATE THING TO SAY!”

“Is it?”

“YES!”

“Well, sorry, I didn’t know sunlight was such a taboo topic.”

“THAT IS NOT –”

Sans interrupts him with a sigh. “there’s a window over there.” He nods to the curtain blocking the left side of the room. “but uh… i don’t see it much. my neighbor likes to keep to themself and they got the view, so.”

Undyne jerks and whispers, “Wait, you’ve got someone else in here? Why didn’t you say so earlier? I’ve been blabbering as loud as I can like an idiot.”

“YOU DO NOT NEED TO WORRY ABOUT THAT. SWIRLS IS DEAF.”

“Swirls?”

“our neighbor. can’t hear a thing.”

He suspects that’s why they were transferred to the room in the first place. Papyrus’s voice is enough to keep even the deepest of sleepers awake, but Swirls can snooze right through it.

“they’re friendly, but real shy. the curtains stay closed.”

“So you haven’t seen the sun in _days_?”

“nah.” Not that he cares. With his work schedule, he often didn’t get much sunlight and it never really bothered him.

She rounds on Papyrus. “What about you?! Tell me you’ve at least taken a walk or something!”

“N-NO,” Papyrus replies with hunch of his shoulders. “I HAVE BEEN TAKING CARE OF SANS.”

“Papyrus!”

Papyrus slinks lower. “YES, UNDYNE?”

“I order you to take a break!”

“I-I AM NOT IN THE ROYAL GUARD THOUGH?”

“It doesn’t matter! I’m ordering you as your friend!”

“UNDYNE,” Papyrus whines.

“No excuses! Everyone needs sunlight, Papyrus!”

“WE DID NOT HAVE SUNLIGHT FOR YEARS!”

“Why do you think we’ve all gotten so much stronger on the Surface?”

“THE SUNLIGHT?”

“Heck yeah!” She shows off her muscles. “Look at these bad boys! Built by yours truly with the power of the sun!”

“WOWIE, I THOUGHT THAT WAS FROM THE POWER OF WORKING OUT!”

“That too!”

Sans thinks he’s only gotten weaker since getting to the Surface, but maybe that’s because of what the doctor said: not enough love and too much stress. And now that he’s thinking about it, that’s probably the real reason behind Undyne’s strength increase. Alphys and her have been dating for a while now and they’re doing as well as ever.

Undyne clasps her hand on Papyrus’s shoulder. “It’s decided. We’re going to go outside, have a walk in the park, and get some nice cream.”

She tugs him towards the door.

“RIGHT NOW? BUT I NEED TO WORK AND –”

“No buts about it! I mean… no offense, Papyrus, but have you gotten a look at yourself lately? You need a break! Being cooped up in a place like this isn’t good for you!”

“yeah, and you can grab me a bite while you’re out,” Sans offers with a half-apologetic smile.

Papyrus’s forehead wrinkles. “ABSOLUTELY NOT!”

“why not?”

To his surprise, it’s Undyne that replies. “Because _you’re_ healing.”

“isn’t that the point?”

“You know what I mean! You don’t get junk food! You need to get back on track with your health first, so hospital food only!”

“PRECISELY!” puffs Papyrus, his confidence weaving back into his posture.

“so the two of you come to visit me in the hospital and then abandon me like this?”

“Actually,” Alphys announces as she wipes off her glasses, “I’m staying.”

“Really?” Undyne asks, slightly deflated. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I kind of… need a break?” She puts her glasses back on. “Heh, those flowers took a lot out of me.”

“I can carry you!” She flexes her arm again.

“N-no thanks. You know I don’t like heights. Besides, the two of you should catch up.”

“WE SEE EACH OTHER EVERY DAY.”

“B-but not recently, right?”

“I SUPPOSE,” he says dubiously. “BUT I ALSO HAVE NOT SEEN MUCH OF YOU LATELY!”

“Okay, b-but… maybe I want to catch up with Sans? It’s been even longer since I’ve seen him.”

“Oh!” Undyne shouts, and Sans doesn’t miss the sparkle in her eye as she beams at Alphys. “I get you, hon. You two need to talk about _nerd_ stuff.”

Alphys huffs. “It’s not ‘nerd stuff.’”

“Nope! I totally get it now! You want to talk about science and space and chemicals and all that weird stuff you study at the lab.” She winks. “Say no more! We’ll leave you two to it!”

Alphys gives Undyne an exasperated look but says no more as Undyne grabs ahold of Papyrus again.

“WE WILL BE QUICK, RIGHT?” Papyrus’s eyes swivel towards Sans. “SANS IS –”

“Sans will be fine, you gigantic dork! You think Alphys will let anything happen to him? She’s a doctor!”

She’s not that kind of doctor, but Sans’s mouth remains firmly shut.

“OF COURSE NOT, BUT I AM JUST WORRIED AND –”

“There’s nothing to worry about! She’s the most capable person in this hospital! Now come on, let’s go get some Vitamin D!” She pushes him towards the door. “See ya nerds later!”

Papyrus waves hurriedly. “GOODBYE, SANS! PLEASE MAKE SURE TO EAT ALL YOUR HOSPITAL FOOD, INCLUDING THE MILK! I DO NOT CARE HOW MUCH YOU HATE IT! AND DO NOT ARGUE WITH THE NURSE ABOUT –”

He’s cut off as Undyne closes the door, leaving a blissful silence in their wake. Sans relaxes, feeling the weight of his exhaustion on his chest as he revels in the quiet.

“S-sorry about that,” Alphys mutters as she sits back in the chair. “I tried to tell her you’d want some peace and quiet, but –”

“but undyne is undyne, just like papyrus is papyrus.” He shakes his head. “no worries, alphs. wasn’t really a big deal.”

“Gosh, she was… so full of energy today! I could hardly keep up with her on the way here. I thought I was going to break my back!”

“why were you even carrying that thing in the first place? doesn’t undyne usually wanna… i don’t know, show off her strength? that’s how paps usually is.”

Alphys’s mouth widens into a proud grin as she hops off the chair. “Oh. Well. Heh. I insisted. I mean… I couldn’t let her see what I snuck in, you heard the way she was talking about junk food.”

“‘snuck in?” He doesn’t try to hide his excitement as she digs around in the vase. “what’d you get?”

“Oh, just a little something you might remember from the days back at the lab.” And even before she pulls it out, Sans knows exactly what it is. “Tada!” she exclaims as she holds up a box of strawberry pocky.

He’s never been happier to see the overhyped biscuit sticks in his life.

“I couldn’t hide it in my inventory, I was sure she’d notice, and well, she probably wouldn’t even care, not really, but I just wanted it to be our secret, you know?”

“alphs, you’re my hero.”

Alphys nearly drops the box. “S-stop that, it’s just pocky.”

“no, really, i’ve been _dying_ here.” At that, Alphys’s gaze darts away and she fumbles with the package until it pops open. Sans presses on, “paps won’t even give me his share of the chocolate pudding they serve. it’s the worst.”

“W-well, then I am glad I thought to bring it.” She glances at his arms and then to his face. “Uh… H-how do you eat usually?”

“heh. usually paps feeds me.”

“Oh. Well…” She shuffles forward, and holds the stick out at arm’s length. “H-here you go.”

“you’re gonna have to get closer than that.” He licks his teeth. “feed me, alphs, my body is ready.”

“D-don’t make this weird, Sans!”

He winks. “but my soul is out and everything.”

“God!”

She closes the gap between them and sticks the pocky in his mouth, and the flavor is so sweet, so perfect. It’s better than he can recall. Maybe it’s because it’s been years since he last had any – he had gotten a bit tired of the stuff after the two of them had practically lived on it, instant noodles, and ramune drinks – but he could practically cry with how good it tastes. He gobbles down the last of the stick greedily.

The machine beeps again.

“O-oh God!” she says, jumping back. “A-are you okay? Did I hurt you? Should I get the doctor? Are you about to –”

“hold up, it’s fine. that’s a good beep.”

“It is?”

“yup. no worries.”

“Oh.” She gets out another stick of pocky, but instead of feeding it to Sans she bites on it herself. Food filling out her cheek, she asks, “S-so… how has that been going anyway? Healing, I mean.”

“mostly bored outta my skull. paps has been trying to help with that though.” He nods towards the box. “you just gonna leave me hanging here?”

Alphys takes out another and drops it into Sans’s mouth and lets him get halfway through the stick before saying, “S-so I couldn’t help but notice that you and Papyrus were… tense? Is everything okay between you two?” She jolts a little and hurriedly continues, “If th-that’s okay to ask, I mean. God, sorry, you were probably trying to avoid the topic and I’m m-making it worse, and –”

Sans swallows the rest in a rush and nearly chokes as he hurries to respond before Alphys has an anxiety attack. “it’s cool, alphs,” he manages to force out between coughs and Alphys relaxes again. When he finally recovers from the fit, he explains, “he and i… well, it was a stupid disagreement is all.”

“Yeah, they usually are.”

“you and undyne have disagreements?”

“Not that much actually! But when we do…” She sighs. “It’s really hard. Mostly because I beat myself up over it.”

“yeah.”

“What happened with you two?”

Sans shakes his head and huffs. “he won’t go into work. i keep trying to tell him that he’ll get in trouble if he’s not careful, but he just won’t listen! instead he just works all hours from here!” He clenches his fist. “i don’t get why he’s so stubborn!”

“N-not like you.”

Sans deflates. “heh. obviously i’m the exception to the rule.”

“Mmm.” She plays with the flaps on the box. “I-I want to say something. And don’t be upset with me, but… Papyrus told us the cause of all this –“

“i know, i could hear the whole conversation.” His soul squirms at the thought of how hysterical had been during that phone call.

“– and I want to know,” she continues, as if she hadn’t been interrupted, “why didn’t you tell me you were working so many hours?”

“it’s not like we’ve been talking that much lately.”

“That’s what I mean though.” She stares at her lap. “We used to talk all the time on messenger. W-was I bothering you? O-or maybe it’s because I set my status to offline. It was nothing against you, Sans, I just need breaks from socializing sometimes and I’ll forget to switch it back –”

“breathe,” Sans suggests, and she does so, her claws tightening around the box.

“Sorry…”

“don’t be. and no, it was nothing like that. i was just… working a lot.”

“But why? Are you really that strapped for cash?”

“kinda. living in the city isn’t cheap.”

“Then why stay?”

“papyrus, obviously.” He takes a deep breath. “it’s a lot easier for him to get to work from the apartment, and he loves it here. never stops going on about how busy and great and convenient it is. i mean heck, if he wants to go bowling three in the morning he can.”

“Papyrus bowls?”

“no, but he can if he wants to. i just love that he has so much opportunity here.” He closes his eyes. “he didn’t have a lot of that underground, and it’s nice to see him happy.”

They sit there in silence for a minute, Sans lost in his thoughts, before Alphys clears her throat. He opens his sockets and sees her frowning at him.

“I understand that it makes Papyrus happy to be here, but you could take the train.”

“can you imagine the two of us on the train, alphys?”

“Yes? I mean… Papyrus would probably have fun and you… well, you’d get used to it. I did!” she says proudly. “I just put on my headphones until I get to my stop so I can tune out everyone.” She pauses. “Can’t you teleport anyway?”

“yeah,” he relents. “but uh… my magic’s been weird lately. there have been a couple times where i haven’t been able to take anyone else along.”

“I-it sounds like you should’ve gone to a doctor before all this.”

Sans’s face warms. “yeah. been busy.”

“I know, but Sans, is it really worth your brother’s happiness to live here if you’re hurt?”

“look, i know it wasn’t a smart decision. it was pretty damn selfish to tell the truth. but he loves it here and, well, i know he’s an adult and he’ll want to get out on his own soon. i guess i’m not looking forward to that. when we picked out the place – when i saw how _happy_ he was overlooking the city – i thought ‘hey, i guess i get at least one more place to live with him for a while.’ pathetic, i know.”

“N-no, it’s not. I get it. Before the Underground transitioned to the Surface, back when Mettaton had first moved out, it was… not good for me. But, um, you and Undyne really helped to fill that gap.”

“me?”

“Yeah.” She cradles the box to her chest. “We used to talk a lot more back then. Online.”

“i know,” says Sans guiltily, “but i didn’t think that i, i don’t know, ‘filled a gap.’”

Alphys squirms in her chair, her tail twitching slightly. A shaky sigh escapes from her mouth as she squeezes her eyes shut.

“This is much easier to say online, but… I know you don’t like to think of _that_ time. I don’t either. But even after you left the lab, you were always a good friend, Sans.”

Sans’s eyes tighten. He knows Alphys doesn’t say that kind of stuff lightly.

“you’re a good friend to me too, alphys. i’m sorry i messed it up.”

“No, no, it was me. I should’ve checked in, I just thought you were mad at me. Eheheh. I guess I’m kind of predictable about stuff like that.”

Sans shakes his head. “nah, i get you. you get doubts.”

“Yeah. But, uhh, Sans, it’s because you’re my friend that I’m saying this, so… um, if you ever need a place to get back on your feet…”

“heh. nice one.”

Alphys blinks a couple of times before she realizes the pun. “God, that isn’t what I meant –”

“the best puns are unintentional, alphs.”

“You always say that, but I still think the best puns are those that be understood across languages! But! That isn’t the point!”

“yeah, the point is that you’re offering me a bed in case we lose our place.”

“Well, yes.” Alphys is blushing. “It’s the least I can do for you.”

Sans sighs. “thanks. it’s really nice of you, but i’d need to check with paps first. and, um, i don’t know if you’ve cleared that with undyne…”

“Oh God!” Alphys cries as she slaps her hands to her face. “N-no, what was I thinking –”

“well, it’s not a big deal. maybe we won’t lose the apartment. and even if i do, tori is always offering me space too. she has a lot of room out there.”

Toriel was near the base of Mt. Ebott, nestled in a sleepy hollow with other Underground monsters who had made their homes close to their old residences. It was mostly families, elderly monsters, and those that didn’t feel quite at peace with the humans.

“If you live that far out, what about Papyrus?”

“yeah, i hear you, but… just because i can’t afford to live in the city doesn’t mean paps can’t. he’d probably be able to get a studio or at least a roommate. i’m the one that’s picky about that sorta thing. it’s like what i said before, i was being selfish.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.” Alphys watches him for a second and then suddenly jumps to her feet and embraces him. It’s no Papyrus hug – Alphys is trembling and he can feel that she’s going to pull away long before she does – but regardless, when she backs away, Sans has a few eager tears running down his face. With his useless arms, he can’t even wipe them.

But Alphys obviously gets it.

“L-let’s watch some anime while they’re gone. We c-can’t let them have all the fun.”

“that sounds nostalgic.”

“Ehehe. If you want nostalgic, then have I got some recommendations for you.”

Sans groans.

By the time Papyrus and Undyne get back, they’re about seven episodes into one of the trashiest animes he’s ever seen. It’s got magical girls and fanservice and way too many inconsistencies, but Alphys absolutely adores it. Sans loves it too. It’s so bad, it’s hard not to like it.

So it’s with a heavy soul that Sans says goodbye to Alphys and Undyne as they head out. There’s no way Papyrus will watch something that horrible with him, even if he begs. He promises to message Alphys as soon as he’s got the use of his arms back, so they can at least finish it. Of course, who knows when that will be. Alphys assures him they’ll talk sooner than that, but she’s a busy monster with her job at the lab, so he’s not holding his breath.

When they leave, Papyrus and Sans are left alone. Well, Swirls is there too, but they’re busy laughing at something on the other side of the curtain. Even though it would be embarrassing for the monster to see his soul out, Sans almost wishes that Swirls would come over so he could talk to them. He hadn’t realized how much he had actually missed having company.

He especially wishes someone was talking to him right now, if only to break the awkward silence between him and his brother. Papyrus hasn’t said a word to him since he’s come in. He’s sitting in the chair, his cell inches from his face. Maybe he’s working. Or waiting on a message from his boss.

But the phone isn’t on. There’s no light shining on his face and Papyrus isn’t typing or swiping or anything else. In his soul, Sans knows Papyrus is just avoiding him after their fight this morning. And, really, he can’t blame him. Sighing, he decides to bite the bullet.

“paps?”

His brother jolts but doesn’t put down his phone or change his blank expression.

“YES?”

“um… are you busy? i wanted to say something to you.”

Papyrus lowers the phone an inch.

Sans takes a deep breath. “what’s the difference between a skeleton in the morgue and a skeleton in a hospital bed?”

“SANS…”

“the one in the morgue isn’t _dying_ to apologize to you.”

For a moment Papyrus remains silent, glaring at Sans from next to the bed. But then there’s a small almost-clicking noise. At first Sans doesn’t recognize it, but then he sees the expression on Papyrus’s face. Realization hits him half a second before his brother is bursting with clear, bright laughter that bounces off the walls. It’s so pure, so honest that it makes Sans’s soul swell as his chest rumbles with his own chuckling.

“hey,” he says between snorts, “i may have broken my arms and legs, but it looks like it didn’t affect my _funny bone_ , huh?”

Papyrus doubles over, tears falling freely from his eyes.

“i always said i needed to stand _on my own two feet_ , but i guess i really need time to _heel_.”

“SANS!” Papyrus chokes out. “STOP!”

“what, you gonna put your _foot down_?”

“YES!”

And with that, he slams his foot down on the floor and Sans absolutely loses it. His voice cracks as his chest burns from the violent laughter that shakes his body. He jostles his limb and pain lances through him, but it feels so good to lose himself that he doesn’t even care. Papyrus’s laughter adds to his and their voices create a magnificent chorus.

Eventually one of the nurses peeks their head into the room and shushes the pair of them, and Papyrus covers both of their mouths as the giggles continue to slip past their teeth. It takes them a good five minutes to sober themselves, and when they finally stop completely, Sans is woozy and winded, but feeling better than he has in months.

“i haven’t heard you like that in a long time.”

Papyrus grins at him. “THE SAME CAN BE SAID OF YOU, BROTHER!”

“heh. yeah, it’s been a while. it was real nice.”

“IT WAS. WE OUGHT TO TRY LAUGHING MORE OFTEN.”

“gotta come up with more great jokes.”

“THOSE JOKES ARE AWFUL!”

“yeah, so awful you nearly broke a rib from laughing so hard.”

“OH BE QUIET!”

“nah, you love me too much.” He winks.

Papyrus crosses his arms in a fake sulk, though he can’t seem to lose the grin. “YES. YES, THAT IS VERY TRUE. I DO LOVE YOU.”

“heh. same to you, bro.” He clears his throat. “but, uh, i do wanna say again… sorry about earlier.”

“I, TOO, AM SORRY.”

“nah, you got nothing to apologize for. i was the one who was getting all moody for no reason.”

“NO, YOU HAD A PERFECTLY GOOD REASON. UNDYNE REMINDED ME THAT I HAVE NOT BEEN GIVING YOU SPACE, AND THAT DOES NEITHER OF US ANY GOOD.”

“papyrus, really, it’s all my fault.”

“NO, BROTHER, IT IS MY FAULT!”

“nope, you’re wrong.”

“YOU ARE THE ONE THAT IS WRONG!”

“well we both can’t be right, so who’s left?”

“WH – SANS!”

“heh heh heh.”

“SHH, THEY WILL COME IN AND YELL AT US AGAIN!”

“what are they gonna do, kick me out? i’d like to see them try. there’s no way they stand a chance against me.”

“OH, HUSH! BESIDES, IT IS ME THEY WOULD HAVE TO BEST BEFORE REMOVING YOU.”

“oh man, they’re doomed.”

“I KNOW! THESE HUMANS WILL NOT KNOW WHAT HIT THEM!”

“i do though. kindness and forgiveness.”

“NYEH HEH HEH! THAT IS CORRECT! BUT DO NOT TELL THEM THAT!”

Sans smiles and Papyrus returns the gesture. Then Papyrus’s phone buzzes loudly, jarring the two of them from the moment. His brother glances down and his mouth slowly falls as he stares at the message.

“work?” Sans asks tentatively.

Papyrus nods. “ONE OF THE INTERNS QUIT TODAY. THEY APPARENTLY DID NOT EDIT THE REPORT AS I HAD ASKED THEM.” He releases a quivering sigh. “I AM SORRY, SANS, BUT I AM GOING TO BE UP ALL NIGHT DOING THIS. I WILL GO HOME AND WORK ON IT FROM THERE IF YOU PREFER?”

He’s asking, not informing, and Sans still feels guilty that he made his bro feel like it has to be question in the first place.

“no way. as long as you wanna do it from here, you’re staying right here.”

“ARE YOU SURE?”

“it’s up to you. if you like working at the apartment, go ahead. but, uh, you know, maybe it would be better if you stayed. i can help, you know.”

“I AM PERFECTLY CAPABLE OF DOING IT MYSELF!”

“yeah, but i know how much you hate editing. what did you say back in high school? ‘those that can’t write, teach. and those that can’t teach, edit and criticize the real writers.”

“MS. DOWE WOULD NOT KNOW TRUE POETRY IF IT SMACKED HER UPSIDE THE ANTLERS!”

“bro, you used ten syllables in your haiku.”

“TRUE ARTISTS BREAK BOUNDARIES!”

“well, how about instead of breaking boundaries tonight we both look over that report together?”

Papyrus exhales. “I SUPPOSE YOU ARE RIGHT.” Without further ado, he climbs into the bed next to Sans and tugs his laptop out of his inventory and onto his lap. “BUT NO EXTRA COMMAS, SANS!”

“it’s an oxford comma, bro.”

“I DO NOT CARE IF IT IS THE KING ASGORE COMMA, WE DO NOT NEED TO OVEREDIT.”

“alright, alright.”

The two of them work late into the night, Sans pointing out errors and typos while Papyrus hurriedly fixes them as fast as he can. It’s not so bad; both of them are joking back and forth, making it easier to get through. Papyrus even pulls out a bag of candies for the two of them to share. (“I WAS NOT ABOUT TO GO GET ICE CREAM AND NOT BRING YOU ANYTHING, OBVIOUSLY,” he says.)

When the nurse returns to the room with Sans’s sleep meds, he pretends to swallow them and feigns sleep until they leave. Then it’s back to work for hours and hours, and when they’re finally done, Sans is so tired that he can hardly keep his eyes open. He yawns and stretches his fingers out against the bed, wishing he could do the same for his limbs.

Papyrus, on the other hand, seems to have boundless energy, and stands up to do a little jig upon their completion of the project.

“OH, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, SANS! YOU DO NOT KNOW HOW MUCH TIME YOU SAVED ME.”

“yeah,” Sans mumbles. “don’t mention it.”

At this point he doesn’t even need the pill. His eyelids feel like they weigh a ton and they’re slowly drifting closed even as he tries to keep them open for Papyrus’s sake. His brother notices and promptly stops dancing.

“aw, bro, why’d you stop? it was fun watching.”

Papyrus doesn’t move at all. His eyes are trained onto Sans, and for a moment it looks like he might burst into a grandiose speech about the importance of sleeping or nutrition or something. It’s definitely the expression he gets. Sans can spot it a mile away.

So he’s surprised when Papyrus doesn’t say a word and rushes over and, for the second time today, Sans is caught up in an embrace. But unlike Alphys’s, this hug is warm and welcoming, and Papyrus doesn’t hesitate to envelop him firmly against his chest.

“REALLY, SANS, THANK YOU.”

“yeah,” Sans yawns as he leans into the hug, wishing he could properly hug him back. “you too.”

“WHAT?”

But Sans is already out, too comfortable in Papyrus’s arms to keep his eyes open a moment longer.


End file.
